


Suit Up

by SLq



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, BAMF!Hannibal, Crossover, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7189478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLq/pseuds/SLq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Will turns his head as far as it will go. He can just make the jut of Hannibal's lips. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I getting in the way of all the hostage fun?"</em><br/>Will and Hannibal are being held hostage in a warehouse. Will did not sign up for this James Bond shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit Up

Will tips his head back. Bars of fluorescence shine harshly far above. Will squints at them and tries to relieve the pinching pain in his back by rolling his shoulders. His wrists sting, the movement pulling at already bruised skin.

"I would advise you to remain still, Will."

"Fuck off."

Hannibal makes a low tsk-sound. Will turns his head as far as it will go. He can just make the jut of Hannibal's lips. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I getting in the way of all the hostage fun?"

Hannibal shifts minutely. The rope binding his arms to the back of a heavy metal chair creaks softly. "I did not ask you to follow me here, Will."

"Was I supposed to _ignore_ you getting dragged out of your office and stuffed into a minivan?"

"You could have alerted the proper authorities."

"You do know what these men are, right? By the time the _proper authorities_ found where they'd taken you-" Will pauses, realizing how nonsensical his reasoning sounds in light of their current situation. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Fuck."

"I see." Hannibal shifts again. A man with a dragon tattoo climbing his bald head barks at them to be quiet. "As touching as your desire to die by my side is-"

"I don't mean for us to die!" Will hisses.

"-I would have preferred you safe." Hannibal shifts again. The metal chair clacks beneath him, dragging against the warehouse's floor. Dragon-head snarls and breaks away from the group of thugs standing guard some distance away. Will watches him approach, eyes on the gun hanging at the man's hip. Will's own had been torn rather unceremoniously from his person. Will's fingers flex where they are tied, low at his back.

"Thought I told ya fags to be quiet."

Will glances at Hannibal. The man looks terribly unimpressed.

"There is no need for such language."

Dragon-head steps closer. Will hangs his head with a quiet, "Really, Hannibal?" Hannibal murmurs something about manners.

"I'll teach ya manners," Dragon-head grips at the collar of Hannibal's shirt and pulls. Hannibal's body strains against its bindings in a painful manner. The neat press of the shirt's fabric is definitely ruined. Will thinks the latter may be more upsetting to Hannibal than the violence being done to his person.

Hannibal does not look overly concerned. "I would rather you do not. Mr. Seymour will find me a difficult man to deal with when displeased."

Will narrows his eyes. He had suspected Hannibal of possessing prior knowledge of his kidnappers, but the doctor's words suggest a deeper relationship. Perhaps a relationship of the kind that precludes police involvement.

The thug gnashes his teeth. He lets Hannibal drop back into the chair and steps back.

Beady black eyes lock on Will. Hannibal stiffens.

Dragon-head's smile crinkles his features in a mean, self-satisfied expression.

"Well, Doctor, guess you're right," Dragon-head drawls. Meaty fingers close over Will's neck. "But the boss don't need this one, do he?"

Will swallows heavily and keeps his eyes on Hannibal. The chill that goes up his spine has nothing to do with the man raising a fist in Will's direction and everything with the darkness that falls over Hannibal's eyes.

"I would advise against it."

The thug's arm trembles, muscles spasming in arrested motion as the deadly tone registers. An instinctual reaction that is dismissed the very next moment.

"Let's pretty your boy a bit, hm?" Dragon-head grins down at Will. His eyes slip down Will's face, to Will's mouth. "Or maybe you'd prefer a different kind of show."

Will bares his teeth. "It'll be a bloody one."

The thug laughs. Will chokes as the hand around his throat tightens. "Yeah, it'll. Bet your ass is nice and-"

There is a screech, then a pop, and suddenly Will can breathe again.

Dragon-head is not as fortunate.

The thug's corpse sits upright for a stunned moment before it slowly topples sideways, the bald head dangling limply. A naked protrusion of bone spears out of Dragon-head's twisted neck. Will stares at the limp sprawl of the thug's body. Voices rise in alarm somewhere near. He cannot focus on them, mind sluggish and hot. Another wet pop has him blinking up at Hannibal. The man had relocated his shoulder. His expression betrays no pain. Will watches the doctor appropriate Dragon-head's gun and fire a warning round into the advancing crowd of henchmen, feeling the disconnect that comes with especially vivid dreams. Hannibal's posture is perfect, arm barely shifting with the recoil. Practiced. Moreso than Will, certainly, and Will had been goddamn law enforcement.

"Hannibal," Will croaks.

Hannibal carries on dragging Will - chair and all - behind a nearby pillar. "Yes, Will?"

"What the fuck is going on."

"Now, Will," Hannibal shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over Will's torso. "The situation is not so dire as to forego basic manners."

"There are men shooting at us," Will glares as best as he can from beneath a messy spill of curls and closing hysteria. "Don't cover me with your fucking jacket, untie me."

"I am afraid I cannot do that." The gunfire draws closer. Hannibal glances at the advancing men and sighs. "The umbrella would have come in handy."

"What."

Hannibal pulls his necktie free and loops it around Will's throat. Will is not wearing a shirt with a collar, so the silk presses against his naked skin. "Hannibal, what the actual-"

" _Tristan,_ " a voice screeches. Will blinks down at the blue spill of fabric at his neck. " _I know you can hear me._ "

"Your tie is talking," Will says.

Hannibal sighs. "It is wont to do that. The trick is getting it to shut up."

" _I heard that. Do you require assistance, you pompous ass?_ "

Hannibal bends low. His lips hover over the tie, disconcertingly close to Will's. Hannibal's eyes are on the profiler as he says, "I will be fine. In case the situation deteriorates, please extract Mr. Graham. He will be easy enough to recognize."

" _Like the entire department doesn't know who Will Graham is_. _Extraction team Alpha on the way._ "

"The situation is under control."

"Stall _, Tristan._ "

Hannibal's irritated exhale washes over Will's lips. Will tastes mint and tea. It's strangely comforting.

"Understood."

The voice falls silent. Hannibal straightens and reaches behind his back. Will blinks at the gun that appears in Hannibal's hand. Good weight, by the look of it. Definitely not standard issue. "What the hell are you."

Hannibal extracts a golden lighter from his pants pocket. "Merely a gentleman, my dear." He thumbs the lighter on, presses the button, and throws the thing at their assailants. The explosion rocks Will forward in his seat. People scream.

"We'll be having a talk," Will says over the ringing in his ears.

Hannibal looks at him with amusement and not a little warmth. "I look forward to it. Now, if you would excuse me."

The man dashes into the mess of fire and rubble and men. Will stares after him. Hannibal had angled his chair to allow Will a clear view of the carnage. _Show-off._ Will watches Hannibal shoot a man in the head and use his body as a springing board to fall another, impressed despite himself. Hannibal moves with grace and power. Every motion is calculated, every punch and every bullet find their mark. Will's pulse beats hot in his ears. Hannibal looks like a man in his element. Will almost forgets that this is _not right_ , caught in the casual beauty of Hannibal's destruction.

It is over within minutes. The voices fall silent. A single set of footsteps echoes in the large space, overlaid by the crackle of spreading flames. Will blinks up at Hannibal. The man's hair is mussed, his eyes bright and pupils blown wide, his cheeks flushed. The very picture of wanton violence. Will licks his lips and almost asks Hannibal to bite him.

"Are you alright?"

Will snorts. "You asking me? How are you even standing? There's no way you dodged all of those bullets."

Hannibal kneels. Will follows his hands with wary eyes, but Hannibal is only retrieving his jacket. "I did not. I was able to intercept them in a safe manner." He pats the jacket's thick fabric once. Metal clangs against the floor. Will squints at the three flat disks that roll by his feet.

"Are those..."

"Yes." Hannibal frowns. "They should not have reached you."

"Ricochet," Will mumbles, still staring at the flattened bullets. Hannibal nods, the unhappy line between his brows still pronounced.

"I am sorry to have involved you in this, Will."

"No you are not." Hannibal parts his mouth, expression tight with affected affront. Will speaks over him. "You knew I would see them take you. You expected I would follow. Are we going to keep dancing around it, or will you tell me what the hell is going on, _Tristan_?"

Hannibal studies Will. His face has gone back to smooth blankness. His eyes shine with approval.

"Merlin?" Hannibal says. Before Will can voice his confusion, the exasperated voice living in Hannibal's tie pipes in again.

" _Why are you even bothering. We both know you'll do what you want anyway._ "

Hannibal hums in agreement and places his hands on top of Will's parted legs. Possibly to aid his balance. More likely to fuck with Will's head. Will scowls at the man. He is met with a sunny smile.

"I am a part of an international secret organization by the name of Kingsman. My operative title is Tristan."

"A Knight."

Hannibal's smile gains teeth. "Yes. My mission was the annihilation of a particularly noxious human trafficking ring with a base in the UK and an expanding branch headquartered in beautiful Virginia, USA. You have witnessed the final stage." Hannibal considers Will for a second, then adds, "As well as the acts leading to the climax."

Will's mind stutters to a stop for the breadth of a heartbeat. The thoughts that overwhelm it the very next are blood-soaked. "You are the Chesapeake Ripper." Hannibal inclines his head. "Your victims...they were all...?"

"Yes."

"Even the girls?"

"Package runners. Bait. Marissa Schurr was responsible for the disappearance of three young women before her unfortunate demise."

Will exhales harshly. "You ripped out her _lungs_ , Hannibal."

Hannibal's shoulders roll smoothly in an unconcerned shrug. "It kept attention away from the real purpose behind her death."

" _Tristan's take on subtlety leaves much to be desired_ ," the tie - _Merlin_ , Will remembers, _for fuck's sake what is with the codenames_ \- snarks. " _Extraction team is moving in. Stand down, Tristan. We don't want a repeat of last time_."

"Guinevere shot at me first."

" _You'd have to excuse the lad, seeing as you were covered in blood and torn skin and snarling like a madman at the time._ "

Hannibal's eyes grow distant. "It was a good weekend."

" _Arthur almost had you put down_."

"He should not hover over his lover so."

" _We'll see if you won't eat your words in a month_. _Extraction team is in. Make contact with Morgana and for the love of God, don't piss her off this time._ "

Hannibal murmurs a distracted assent. His hands slide down Will's thighs before lifting, reminding Will of their presence and his own tongue. Footsteps echo not too far away.

"Untie me."

"In a minute, darling." Hannibal steps around the pillar, hands empty of weapons. "Morgana."

"Tristan."

Will tries to locate the source of the voice. The woman appears suddenly, lithe body seeming to materialize within the smoke-filled warehouse between breaths. She is wearing a black suit, the same shade as the long black hair falling to either side of her face. In the poor light, Morgana appears to be cloaked in shadows.

"Seymour is secured?"

"Apprehended ten minutes ago, enroute to a safe house." Morgana's eyes slide to Will. Will straightens as much as he can. "Is he your candidate?"

Hannibal inclines his head. "If he is willing." Will grits his teeth with anger at being talked over. Literally, in this case.

Morgana's regard cuts into Will, digs to the bone. "He will do well," she says. Will blinks. Hannibal manages to hide his own surprise only a bit better. "Do take him to the med department before he signs anything. He can hardly give informed consent in this state. There is transport waiting for you outside."

Morgana melts out of view before Hannibal can respond, joining her team in collecting bodies and restraining the (two) survivors. Will shifts his glare to Hannibal.

"What did she mean by that."

Hannibal's attempt at a guileless expression is pathetic at best. Will growls. Hannibal drops the act. "Later."

"I'll hold you to that." Will shifts in the chair and winces. His hands are probably turning blue with lack of circulation. Hannibal swiftly moves behind him and sets to slicing through the ropes. Will does not bother to ask where the man had found a knife, seeing as he conceals guns in suits tailored to fit him like a glove. "I'm your candidate for what?" Will cradles his numb hands against his chest. Hannibal cups them in his own, long fingers massaging the bruised flesh. Will colors.

"One of our Knights met an unfortunate end a month ago. I would like to offer you a chance to replace him as our next Galahad." Hannibal bends his head. His lips press over the swell of Will's knuckles, first on the left, then on his right hand. Will shakes his head in disbelief. Hannibal's eyes bore into his, dark and intense. "Would you like to become a Kingsman, Will?"

Will licks his lips. Hannibal's gaze flickers there briefly.

"Gonna teach me to fight like that?"

Hannibal's canines bite over his lips.

"Dear Will, I will teach you to _kill_."

Will leans closer and slowly, cautiously, presses his lips over Hannibal's sharp grin. The man's mouth softens, lips capturing Will's in a sloppy caress. "Yes," Will breathes.

Hannibal swallows the word and Will's moan. "My dear. They will fear us so."

Will's next kiss is a bite. Hannibal returns it, teeth flashing, eyes alight.

"They should."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur = Harry  
> Guinevere = Eggsy :D


End file.
